


Full of Stars

by tainry



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, PWP, Sticky, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5811736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tainry/pseuds/tainry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drift and Rodimus take special care of Perceptor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full of Stars

**Author's Note:**

> For a kinkmeme fill:
> 
> http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11776.html?thread=13010944#t13010944

“Good,” Drift said. “Now shift your weight a little more as you swing. That’s it. Again.”

“Perceptor’s a good kisser, huh?”

“Mmmhmmm. Bring your forward foot farther…yes, there you go, see how that changes the way the power moves?”

“Yeah. Oops.”

“Keep your wrist firm for the first part and then allow the twist… You haven’t gotten to him yet, I take it?”

“Not yet. He’s hard to catch.”

“He works his aft off in the lab for you, with Brainstorm giving him slag every cycle. Try harder.”

“For me?”

“Yes. This quest got him out from under Prowl.”

“Oh?”

“Not that kind of under. There’s some kind of bad energy between them, he won’t talk about it. Not even to me.”

“Huh. Wanna try tackling him now? Not much going on while we’re between jumps. Rewind has most of the usual suspects in the rec room for movie night.”

//Perceptor?//

//Hello, Drift.//

//Are you in the middle of anything delicate or time-sensitive?//

//…Not especially.//

Perceptor sounded tired, in that slightly tetchy way that said to Drift’s honed awareness that Brainstorm had been even more of an aft that day than usual, and that even the new crystalline matrix Perceptor was building molecule by molecule wasn’t absorbing enough to let him ignore him. //Good. Rodimus and I will be descending upon you momentarily.//

//I would prefer to meet you in our quarters. I require a moment to scour this corrosive from my plating.//

//What?// Perceptor wasn’t clumsy in the lab. Perceptor wasn’t clumsy at all. //Did he—?//

//It is of no consequence. I am anxious to see you – if somewhat alarmed by the addition of Rodimus.// He signed off with an amused glyph.

Drift sighed. “Let’s go. He’ll meet us in our room.”

It took longer than they meant to get there. Ultra Magnus intercepted them and had a list. Roddy put him off by threatening to explain in detail what they were intending to do with Perceptor. By the time they reached Drift and Perceptor’s shared room, Perceptor had three cubes of energon drawn for them, but was nodding halfway into recharge over his own. 

“Oh, Cep, your hand!” Drift cradled Perceptor’s left hand, the back of which was scored and pitted. “Rodimus, help me get him into the washrack.” 

Hot Rod gamely slipped an arm around Perceptor’s narrow waist and pulled his arm over his shoulders. He liked the way Perceptor dipped his head to nuzzle Drift’s finials. 

“Mere surface lesions,” Perceptor murmured. “Of little discomfort and no lasting harm.”

But Rodimus had seen the dark look pass across Drift’s features. Maybe Brainstorm needed more to do. Or a good shag. Maybe Whirl would oblige. Or Swerve. Swerve would clang anyone, bless him. Randy minibots were proof that Primus loved them. 

Once they were in the rack, Drift turned the solvent on good and hot, good and hard. They took turns directing Perceptor into the spray, giggling when he protested that he was not a rhinoceros caked with terrestrial matter and did not require such assiduous ablutions at this juncture. Roddy had no idea what the slag a rhinoceros was, but he liked the sound of Drift’s laugh as he kissed Perceptor’s nose. 

“Relax. Let us take care of you,” Drift said, handing Roddy a cleaning brush. Perceptor sighed, but his optics dimmed and his head fell back as he submitted, spreading his arms and legs so they would be able to reach everything. 

“Unf!” Roddy said. Where to start!? Oh fine. Drift stroked his brush in smooth, gentle circles over Perceptor’s helm. From top to bottom, then. No objections! Nice shoulders, Percy had. Hot Rod followed Drift’s example, drawing the brush slowly over ruddy armor, swirling it into every hollow and crevice, but not scrubbing hard. He lost track of time, ignoring his chronometer as he worked leisurely down that arm to the undamaged right hand. The brush was really too big to be of much use in the joints of Perceptor’s long, slender fingers, but he stroked each one anyway, each side and between, back of hand, circling the palm. Perceptor’s venting had increased. His plating was warm under their hands…warm verging on hot. 

Roddy swirled the brush back up that arm, across the shoulder, over the broad chest, lingering in the seams of the thick breastplate. One hand snuck down to fondle the thick cables that ran around Perceptor’s sides and connected just beneath what had once been the hinge but might not be any more. Perceptor, Hot Rod suspected, no longer intended that part of himself to open. Perceptor’s optics were shuttered, his lips slightly parted. Drift’s optics, barely visible over Perceptor’s shoulder, glimmered at him, suggestive and amused, as Hot Rod leaned up to slip his glossa between those lips. Perceptor’s mouth opened to him, glossa responding in kind, drawing his in farther, sucking gently. Hot Rod heard himself hum, his engine rev. Drift hadn’t been lying. 

Perceptor broke the kiss abruptly, tossing his head and gasping. Drift was back there mouthing one end of his scope. Hot Rod bared his dentae in a half-grin. The neck cables thus exposed needed to be stroked, too. Perceptor’s powerful tank-mode engine rumbled, precursor to a roar. Hot Rod kissed along the steel-pale line of jaw, circling the brush once more over Perceptor’s chest before moving on to the other shoulder. Every surface of this arm, too, received its share of attention, if not more – Roddy was kind of afraid to touch the damaged hand, no matter what Percy said about it not hurting. The plating looked half-melted. He supported that hand carefully as he swirled the brush over the forearm and the broad silvery disk that had something to do with the gyros that made Percy such a steady shot. Perceptor squeezed his hand in understanding. 

Hot Rod knelt, starting in on the lower torso, but Perceptor lifted the damaged hand and caressed Roddy’s face, thumb stroking his lips. 

“Our show,” Hot Rod chided, kissing Perceptor’s fingers but tilting his head away. Perceptor let his hand drop. Drift captured it gingerly and placed a kiss on the palm, then guided that arm up and over, out of the way; which not really incidentally stretched Perceptor’s lean torso into a gentle arc, all the better for Rodimus’ brush to explore. 

Smirking, Roddy spread his knees, his spike flagging jauntily between his legs in the warm air. He found he wasn’t in any hurry to do anything about it though. It was kind of nice to not be in any hurry for once, to take their time. Drift jinked his hips over from behind Perceptor to show Roddy how his spike was fully erect as well, waving languidly, gleaming with lubricant. Roddy snuck a peek at Perceptor’s crotch. The scientist wasn’t as sleepy as he seemed; the tip of his spike had nosed from its housing and twitched interestedly now and then as Roddy and Drift stroked him. 

No hurry, Rodimus told himself. And told himself again a little while later. He kept looking at that cheeky little spike tip nestled in its comfy den, kept thinking how nice it would be to lick it. And keep licking it, until it swelled and lengthened and grew erect and hard like his and Drift’s. 

He moved on, down into the complicated components of Perceptor’s lower leg, digging the brush into each crevice between track-sections, all round the little wheels and the folded bits of armor. The silvery spike-tip contrasting with Perceptor’s charcoal-grey pelvic armor kept distracting him, but he persevered. Perceptor obligingly lifted his pede as Roddy got to the ankle, working under the flanges of armor protecting the joint, stroking the whole foot firmly enough not to tickle. With one leg up like that, though, his hip joint and groin were a bit more exposed. It was so hard not to look. He had another leg to go. 

Drift beat him to the hip juncture, so Roddy started on the thigh plating, running the brush up and down its pale length, remembering vaguely that Perceptor’s thighs had once been the same teal as his forearms, and had not always housed a hidden pair of pistols. Roddy diligently cleaned the seams of the pistol compartments, his other hand resting on the back of the thigh, up high near Perceptor’s aft. Was that a twitch? Was the spike tip sticking out a little bit more now? He gave the inner thigh another few strokes, up and down, up and down, before moving to the knee. Perceptor’s spike was definitely another finger’s width farther out. Oh Primus. Roddy’s mouth ached with wanting to suck it. 

The lower leg and pede took a while. Roddy didn’t want to stint when he’d already done such a good job on the first leg. He could hear Perceptor and Drift kissing wetly above him, Drift trying to stifle his moans but not doing a very good job of it. 

Oh frag that! Roddy grabbed Perceptor’s hips and closed his mouth around his spike, swirling his glossa around the tip, sucking hard as Perceptor gasped and his spike surged fully erect. Primus, yes! His lubricant tasted so good! Roddy licked and sucked, relishing every gleaming segment, every drop of fluid, opening wide to take in the entire length before drawing back to suckle the head. Aware of his audience, he looked up to see Drift’s bright spike thrusting in and out of Perceptor’s dark hand. Roddy’s spike throbbed. He continued to suck and lick, wrapping his hands – both hands fit – around the shaft. Perceptor’s first climax would be his, oh yes; that first squirt of transfluid was always the best. 

Perceptor did not disappoint. Moaning into Drift’s mouth, his pleasant tenor dropping into a strut-melting baritone, Perceptor managed to keep his hips more or less still as Roddy worked him, sucking and squeezing harder, faster, until with a low cry the hot, heavy fluid filled Roddy’s mouth, sucked greedily down. Rodimus’ optics darkened to violet. 

“Berth,” Drift moaned, tugging on them both, reluctantly drawing his spike from Perceptor’s grasp and fumbling at the solvent valves to shut them off. “Berrrrth!” 

Hot Rod stood and Perceptor caught him round the waist, pulling the two smaller mechs firmly toward the berth alcove, all of them steaming and dripping, none of them caring. “Mmmm,” he purred. “An eminently sensible suggestion.” 

They almost didn’t get there. Drift and Roddy’s hands moved over Perceptor’s body with the same thoroughness as their cleaning brushes, wet kisses turning fierce, wet valves dripping and rippling to be filled. Perceptor half carried them.

Hot Rod squirmed as Perceptor pushed him down, unable to decide if he wanted Percy’s spike in his mouth or valve first, but Perceptor solved the equation by claiming Roddy’s mouth with lips and clever, clever glossa, and nudging Roddy’s legs apart with his hips. The slick, hot tip of his spike circled and stroked the knurled edges of Roddy’s valve; exploring – Roddy whimpering into Perceptor’s mouth – before at last sliding inside. 

He sheathed himself fully, humming in pleasure, then withdrew till only the tip remained inside. Before he could thrust in again, Drift pushed Perceptor’s legs apart, pushing Roddy’s legs wider. Hot Rod splayed his legs to the sides, holding on to Perceptor’s hips while Drift positioned himself. By Perceptor’s hitching vents, Drift was being just as much a tease with his spike as Perceptor had. 

Winking over Perceptor’s left shoulder, Roddy began to roll his hips upward, squeezing Perceptor’s luscious spike. Catching on immediately, Drift thrust into Perceptor’s valve at the same time, one arm wrapped around Perceptor’s waist to keep him steady.

Bracing his weight on hands and knees, Perceptor was held immobile while his lovers took him from both sides. 

Outside the _Lost Light_ , the stars in their trillions whirled and danced. The ship’s engines roared with their cosmic machineries, flinging them across the deeps. Perceptor felt his mind unlatch, even as his body drowned, utterly, in ecstasy.

“We’re here for you,” Drift whispered. “Tell us what you want.”

Perceptor tried to moan, made some small, helpless sound deep in his throat or chest, whole body trembling. He curled his arms tight around Hot Rod’s shoulders. “Donnnn’t…stooooop…” 

“Hai.” Drift grinned – and kept on, thrusting at that exact pace and depth, knowing by the feel and flutter, by the slowly increasing squeeze that he was hitting all of Perceptor’s favorite nodes. Hot Rod was doing beautifully; young as he was, and inclined to pound harder and faster until that ultimate catastrophe, he was keeping the same pace too; hips pistoning upward at a perfect angle, though the rhythmic sound of their hydraulics and the scent of their lubricants was driving him half mad. 

Silent, unstoppable, Perceptor went nova, taking them with him, welding their bodies together. 

Don’t stop, Hot Rod thought as his valve wrung itself around Perceptor’s spike, and his own fluid gushed over his chest, unquenchable. 

Don’t stop, Drift tried to shout but couldn’t, searing overload blazing through every circuit, transfluid shooting like a gamma burst from his writhing spike. 

They returned to their separate selves reluctantly. Perceptor rolled off Hot Rod, a courteous larger mech, reaching for them both. They caught his hands and gently placed them up over his head, where he obediently interlaced his fingers. Hot Rod stared. Percy was still steaming hard and ready, despite the volume of transfluid running from between Roddy’s legs. Drift drew him down onto Perceptor’s body, smiling at his expression. 

All right. Older mechs knew tricks. Looked like he was going to get both his desserts tonight. 

Hot Rod curled and shimmied down, ignoring Drift’s chuckle, listening instead for that satisfyingly appreciative gasp as he closed his lips around that lovely spike. Mmmmm. More transfluid for him. He alternated between stroking the shaft lightly with his fingertips, and wrapping it with his whole hands, squeezing in sequence as he sucked and kissed the head, rubbing the tip of his glossa over the emission port. Perceptor’s hips made little circles on the berth, expressing what his mouth was too occupied with Drift to give voice to. Hot Rod only paid sporadic attention, focused on the feel and taste, enjoying Perceptor’s unique alloys. Sometimes Perceptor’s moans were muffled, accompanied by the little slurpy snicks and slicks of kisses. Then, Roddy glanced up to see Drift straddling Perceptor’s face, aft jinking slightly, Drift’s gasping moans making explicit what was going on. Hot Rod’s spike surged erect.

Bearing down, Roddy sucked hard on the tip, rubbing up and down the shaft, twisting at the same time; faster and faster, reminded of Blurr having himself off – and slag was that a hot image! The little circles Perceptor’s hips were making got sharp and angular. Roddy watched for the rising, the pause and flex of Perceptor’s body, the thrumming of pressure in his spike, clamping his mouth around the head to catch every drop as Percy spilled, hot and fine. So good, so sweet… 

This time Perceptor’s spike retracted, cozying down for a little rest. Hot Rod smiled. Good spike. He gave the housing an affectionate rub. Ah, but there, below it, was Perceptor’s valve. So wet, brimming and open, begging to be touched, to be filled. A valve Hot Rod’s spike had never visited. This must be remedied. 

Drift glanced over his shoulder. Grinning, he sat back, onto Perceptor’s chest, garnering a mild whirr of surprise as his spike left Perceptor’s mouth. He watched, bright-opticked, as Roddy, kneeling upright between Perceptor’s legs, slid his spike unhurriedly into Perceptor’s valve. The scientist’s whirr became a pleased hum. Drift watched Hot Rod’s lower body flex, hips pumping in a steady, mesmerizing rhythm, spike gliding in and out, disappearing into heated darkness, reappearing to gleam in the light. The junction of their joining was a threshold Drift found astonishingly compelling. 

And Primus below was Rodimus beautiful transfixed by pleasure. Drift moved aside so Perceptor could see too. Bright helm fallen back, optics shuttered, sensuous mouth open. Beautiful. Drift’s spark swelled with happiness, glad that they had done this, that Rodimus had agreed. 

“Mm,” Perceptor said softly. “Ohhhhh…” Drift smiled wider. They’d managed to shut down Perceptor’s vocabulary. Or maybe not. His sweet, quiet moans evoked whole dictionaries of pleasure and desire. 

“Oh Perceptor,” Drift murmured, leaning down. How could he be apart from that wonderful mouth for so long? “I love you… I love you…” 

Hot Rod onlined his optics. Drift and Perceptor were kissing again; Drift rubbing his spike against Perceptor’s lower torso, one leg thrown over so Roddy could see everything. Perceptor – disobedient! – brought one hand down, caressing Drift’s back, moving lower, cupping that dark, angular aft. Roddy found himself thrusting faster. With an effort he slowed, optics darting between Perceptor’s circling, stroking, wandering fingers and Drift’s slippery spike. Drift canted his hips up farther, spreading himself wider for Roddy’s gaze, oh Primus, as Perceptor’s fingers grazed the wet rim of his valve. They circled there, lingering, one fingertip dipping in only slightly now and then, hovering, teasing, until Drift was keening into Perceptor’s mouth and Hot Rod didn’t even know what he was moaning or shouting any more but he knew his spike felt as huge and hot as Megatron’s cannon, and when Perceptor at last pushed one finger inside, Drift cried out, swearing sacred and profane, grinding himself against Perceptor’s body, his valve visibly clenching and grasping, and Hot Rod had no idea how it was that he hadn’t exploded yet but he kept on thrusting, lubricant splashing from between them. Perceptor brought his other hand down, placing it warm and reassuring on Roddy’s hand that was clenched on Percy’s hip. 

Two fingers spread Drift’s valve, stroking in and out languid and smooth, as if the berth, the whole room wasn’t rocking with their bodies and their shouts. Perceptor’s spike snaked from its housing, slithering across his belly to mingle lubricants with Drift’s thrashing spike. Hot Rod groaned, determined not to come until he saw Drift spill first. 

More slowly still, a third finger joined the first two. Drift pushed his hips up, bucking into Perceptor’s hand. Hot Rod was dizzy with the view. Slowly, Perceptor moved his fingers faster, deeper, Drift’s lubricant streaming between them, until his fingers’ plunging matched Hot Rod’s frenzied pace exactly, and Drift sang out a long, wavering cry, scaling higher and louder and louder until silver sprayed from his spike in a broad, shuddering arc and his valve clamped down, Perceptor’s valve clamped down, and Roddy slammed in to the hilt, hips and body jerking as transfluid poured from him in a boiling wave, and he felt the hot spatter of Perceptor’s climax across his chest. He collapsed, trembling, head resting on Drift’s outflung leg until they could each gather the energy to rearrange themselves less awkwardly. 

Hands petted smoking, pinging frames, mouths met in unsteady kisses. Hot Rod thought his optics must have fried. And then he remembered to turn them on. Everything was hazy, but he didn’t mind. 

Of course now they needed the washracks again. They showered off quickly, patted their rumpled and askew armor back into place, gulped the forgotten energon. The berth got a fast wipe-down. Then Drift and Hot Rod curled up on Perceptor, twining hands as they kissed him. His optics were already offline and they could hear his systems shutting down one by one.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and fell into recharge. 

Drift and Roddy grinned at each other in triumph. 

“In the morning,” Hot Rod whispered.

“Mmmyes!”


End file.
